


When all else fails (and you long to be)

by I_Write_Midnight_Snacks (Pink_and_Purple_Daisies)



Series: Something better than you are today [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: But he's working on it, Enemy to Caretaker, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Jason Todd Has Anger Issues, Jason Todd Has Feelings, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Mental Breakdown, Mixed Canon, Sibling Bonding, Tim Drake Needs Help, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Red Robin, as a treat, canon is dead and so am i, no beta we die like jason todd, platonic love but still, that's right lads we mari condoing this canon, they don't get it yet but Soon, this time jason gets to have a breakdown as opposed to a panic attack, we're getting more tim related tags once i actually finish chapter 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Purple_Daisies/pseuds/I_Write_Midnight_Snacks
Summary: “How much did you sleep this week?”“I can sleep when I’m dead.”Jason snorts, but it’s only half-humour. “Absolutely not, replacement. I’m the only one who gets to make dead jokes around here.” He puts the grocery bag on the counter, ignoring Tim’s disgruntled look at the bag and taking off his helmet.Or:Jason's mind is a mess, and since his recent revelation, he can't get himself together, so ends up going back to the source of his troubles. He gets groceries on the way.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Something better than you are today [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071341
Comments: 19
Kudos: 332





	When all else fails (and you long to be)

**Author's Note:**

> _Title from "Vogue" By Madonna._
> 
> Hmm.
> 
> I have three presentations due over the course of the next three days and haven't actually done a single one of them. This is how I'm using my time.
> 
> Chapter's a bit shorter this time, because there's at least two more to come for this part. It was meant to be a single one, but it got away from me. I have no control, honestly.
> 
> Anyway, up next is gonna be Tim's POV on this, which I've written a bit of in parallel with this. It's gonna be a few days at least though, since I wasn't kidding about those projects.
> 
> I have at least one more part planned for this series, but all things considered that won't be the end of it, and I also kinda wanna write a platonic soulmates AU for the extended batfam, but that's seriously gotta wait until exams are over. I need to stop.
> 
> You can blame the head pats entirely on Envysparkler and her works.

Jason hates this.

He hates it. Not knowing things goes against his every instinct, innate alley-kid and ingrained bat ones alike. The feeling that he isn’t in control of his own mind, that he can’t tell how much is him and how much is outside influence, taking him and twisting him with so much ease he can’t even notice it.

His brain is fucked up and he can’t fix it.

He hates it, and he’s going to snap. He’s going to lose hold of his already shot to hell temper, and accidentally go too far on a criminal and then this truce he has with the bats will be fucked, and everything he’s been working towards - the progress he’s been doing in crime alley - it’s all going to be for nothing.

The best he can do is distract himself, though, and there’s at least one case he has open that he could make some headway on as long as he can’t trust himself on the streets at least, so he might as well go back to the source.

“Fuckign Christ, Timbo, have you even looked at a bed this week?” is the first thing he says when he gets there, because Jesus, the kid looks like shit.

Tim rolls his eyes at Jason, who takes offense with that. “Don’t give me that look, Replacement,” he says, glaring at the fifteen cans of re-energy drink he can see scattered in-between the cups of coffee on the kid’s kitchen island. “How much did you sleep this week?”

“I can sleep when I’m dead.”

Jason snorts, but it’s only half-humour. “Absolutely not, replacement. I’m the only one who gets to make dead jokes around here.” He puts the grocery bag on the counter, ignoring Tim’s disgruntled look at the bag and taking off his helmet.

For a second, the kid pauses, but then he sighs. “Why are you here, Jason?”

He sounds as tired as he looks, and the grocery shopping had been a random whim, but he’s thinking now it was a better idea than he’d realised. The tired tone is expected, but beyond that, Tim sounds downright weary, and Jason doesn’t wince, but it’s a close thing.

“I was going to check in with you on the trafficking case we got tangled în, since I didn’t bother tracking them digitally and I know for a fact you’re on top of that.”

Tim is looking pointedly at the grocery bag he’s now unloading on the counter. Jason pretends to ignore him. The failed deflection successfully distracts from the fact that he’s totally bulshitting and neither is his actual motivation, so that counts as a win.

The kid just heaves a deep sigh after Jason ignores him long enough, and seems to go with it for now. “I’ll pull up the files in a few, but I have to finish drafting and submitting this policy for WE in the next ten minutes. At least pour me a coffee since you’re here.”

Jason frowns at all the empty, scattered mugs. Then he notes the pot of half-drunk, cold coffee that’s mostly grounds by this point, and pulls a face. He pours all that down the drain to the kid’s pained noises in the background, but as long as he’s here, there won’t be gross, stale coffee being drunk. Alfred taught him better, so after shooting a glare at the kid to shut him up, he proceeds to find the fresh coffee grounds and put on a fresh batch.

He turns to assess the kid while that happens. He really does look like shit. Between the pallor, the eye bags, the mop of a hairstyle, and his general demeanor, Jason wouldn’t need to see the mess of caffeinated drinks to realise that Tim hasn’t slept in a while. He’s come here to figure things out, but the food is looking more and more like a good idea, and once he gets the kid to sleep, he might even be able to snoop around the kid’s stuff some more. Now that he’s here, he’s not sure what he actually expected he’d get done, other than confusing himself even more.

He settles on parmesan chicken with basmati rice and grilled vegetables that _didn’t_ start off in a can, for once. It’s a distraction, but it’s a productive one. After all, it hasn’t escaped him that there isn’t a single plate of food among the mounds of trash piled up around the kid.

He starts on the prep work, which is just a simple enough task to let his thoughts fly, and they inevitably come back to the same problem that’s been haunting him for days. The album might or might not still be on the same shelf, but it burns in his awareness nonetheless, clearer now that he’s so close, a bright spot somewhere behind him that draws at his thoughts like a magnet. The nerves are back with a vengeance.

He clenches the knife tighter and focuses on slicing. The coffee demands his attention so he turns to it. There’s still a couple of clean mugs up in a cupboard, so he pours it. One thing at a time. Focus on what’s in front of him. He can get through this without snapping.

The clacking of the keyboard behind him stops with a final click just as he turns with the coffee. “So, wha’cha got for me, Timbo?”

The kid takes the mug gratefully, and he seems to lag for a few seconds, which Jason takes to turn back to the counter. Green pulses in his sight and nerves jitter under his skin, so he goes back to cooking.

When Tim speaks, his voice is flat, detached. “I got identities for all the perps that first night, and traced back from there. Bank transactions over the past few months lead to several off-shore accounts. I branched out from there and hopefully identified all the gothamites who have anything to do with this whole deal. Hacked everything, communications, other accounts, background checks, everything there is on them. I haven’t been able to get through all of it yet, because that’s a lot of info, but I need to compile it into a file for the GCPD soon, so I can send you copies of the relevant files as soon as I finish combing through everything.”

Jason never gave Tim his contact info. He knows that won’t stop the kid. He whistles. “Damn, Timbo. You work fast. I’m impressed”

There’s a sigh, but - “Yeah, thanks. I’m nowhere near done though. It’s a new player, but you know that already. If I followed the leads right, we’re dealing with some expanding upstarts who recently got a big break in Russia and are looking to go international. They deal in anything that can get them money. Drugs, kids. Weapons.” That made sense. Jason had been following a human trafficking lead that first night, only to end up with some new unknown weapons shoved in his face. It wasn’t going to be a coincidence.

“Problem is,” Tim continues, and his tone breaks off for a second. He hesitates. Jason gets a bad feeling; puts the knife down just to be sure. “Gotham problems seem to be spilling outside. These guys… they caught wind that there’s a whole corner of the market here that’s open, and targeted it specifically.”

Jason’t blood goes cold.

“What.”

His fists clench. 

“Jason-”

“Replacement. What did you just say?”

Tension, thick in the air like green fog settles between them. His entire body is tense, ready to snap. This was a bad idea.

A chair scrapes against the ground - footsteps, edging away, and at some level he realises that he needs to calm down, but his blood is suddenly boiling, anger like a heavy fog blurring the edges of reality and Jason can’t _think_ behind the anger because-

“They’re here to target kids.” He forced his voice to be even, but it shakes with unrestrained fury.

“It was going to happen,” the kid says after a second, and his voice wobbles, and Jason needs to calm down before he fucks everything up. “Your reputation keeps gotham criminals in check, but it doesn’t extend that far, so outsiders are gonna try their luck.”

Right. Logical.

Jason wants to snarl. Wants to punch something, wants to _shoot someone_ , because why can’t people just fucking leave kids alone-

Shifting fabric, frantic steps and a resounding _crash_ \- it breaks through his thoughts and Jason jumps into action. A knife in his hand, clutched tight - he twists on the spot, snarls and-

Tim is holding his laptop like a blunt weapon, standing in a defensive stance ready to defend or to run, but he’s also shaking, eyes fixed on Jason’t body, weary, studying, taking in his body language for any sign of an attack and _Fuck_ , Jason can’t keep doing this, can’t keep fucking up.

He forces his body to relax, breathes into unwilling lungs. His heart is hammering, but he pushes the green down viciously, and it helps, and he manages to let go of the knife. “Fuck,” he says, and the kid cringes. “I didn’t - you’re - I’m sorry, fuck, I keep fucking -”

He chokes on his own words, on his own feelings. He’s just so fucking angry (so fucking hurt) (so scared) (but that’s not right, not here, not now so why) ( _oh_ ). It burns, it’s ice, it’s an empty pit somewhere deep inside of him that can’t have enough won’t have enough-

He should leave, get away from here before he freaks the kid out even more, before he fucks everything up irreparably, but. But his legs won’t move, and he’s shaking with anger and with something else that’s been building up for over a week. He should leave.

He needs to leave.

He falls back against the counter, slides down, sits. “Shit,” he says, breathing easier.

The air is heavy.

Tim’s mug is shards on the ground, coffee spilt. Jason’s eyes linger on that as opposed to anything else.

The kid moves, but Jason stays in place.

“Jason?” Tim asks eventually.

“I should go,” he says.

“Jason, what was that?”

“I freaked the fuck out, ok repalcement? I lost my shit, and I have - I can’t…” He trails off. There’s nothing he can say. His temper’s shot to complete hell, and he came here where Tim is going to be caught in the fallout.

“About outsiders targeting Crime Alley,” the kid says, and goddamnit, he has no self-preservation, not a bit, _shut up_. “But that’s easy enough to deal with, now that you know the problem. You’ve dealt with it before.”

It's a question, Jason realises, but anyway, he’s wrong. That's not it.

“I’m just trying to understand.”

He’s suicidal is what he is.

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Most of the time, unless I’m really interested in something.”

“Interested in getting yourself killed, kid?” he asks, and it’s a threat, maybe, a warning, probably. A bit of something else, too, though, because somehow, this is helping.

Tim doesn’t answer this time, but it’s fine. Jason is getting himself together. Tim is looking at him with that intense, studying sort of look that always unnerved him from Bruce and is somehow worse from the kid. He doesn’t look afraid, though, so that’s a step forward on Jason’s scale.

They stay in silence.

Jason goes back to the food, and ignores Tim’s gaze, and ignores the photo album that may or may not still be there. Eventually, everything is cooking, and now they wait.

He came here for answers and instead everything’s even more of a scrambled mess. Jason feels like things are never going to get better. He’ll just keep spiralling more and more, until one day he’ll snap. He’s standing on a ledge and waiting to fall.

"They're targeting kids," he says eventually.

"Uh… yeah, we established that."

"No, I mean - that's what drives me fucking mad. That they're targeting kids, specifically." That no matter what Jason does people keep going after kids. Keep going after struggling moms. Won't stop targeting all the most vulnerable people for no reason other than they can.

After a second - "Well then, what are you going to do about it?"

Asked, as if it's that simple.

Maybe it is.

“Teach them a lesson, obviously.”

“Ok.”

Simple as that.

He finishes in silence more comfortable than they’ve had before.

When he sets the plate in front of Tim, the kid is giving it a look that Jason doesn’t appreciate.

“You’re finishing that food, kid, or so fucking help me! If you’re gonna be fighting crime at night at least take care of your body so you don’t keel over for no reason, now shut up and eat.”

Tim gives him a look when the words “take care of your body” leave his mouth. Jason doesn’t need reminding that he fucked up.

The kid doesn’t protest anymore, at least, even if he keeps studying Jason throughout the whole meal. Jason feels sick _(guilt-ridden) (sorry) (he was just a kid)_. He glares at the window to hide the mess of feelings in him.

The stupid fucking album is on the shelf behind Tim, still.

“Gotta say, I didn’t think you’d be such a great cook.”

Jason takes the change of subject for what it is. “Learned from the best, kid.”

“...Alfred?”

And there’s a thing. His voice wavers on the single name. Something from their last encounter scratches at the back of his mind.

He keeps his voice casual. “Still, not living with the rest of the bats? I didn’t think they’d let you out their sight, with your self-preservation skills.”

Tim could lie with the best of them, Jason gives him that, but Jason also learned from the best, and the kid is exhausted. His face almost manages to stay blank, but the way it soured was a genuine response.

Interesting.

“Oh? Are things going sour in paradise? Things with the bats not as great as they used to be?”

Tim scoffs. “Hardly. I’ve done my job, fulfilled my purpose, and moved on. That’s all.”

 _What the fuck_ , Jason thinks, with feeling..

“What the fuck?”

Tim shrugs.

“Timmy. Timothy. Timbo. You’re going back and talking me through this because I’m not sure I follow your thought process here.”

“Jason, just leave it. My place with the waynes was always going to be temporary. There’s nothing to say.”

That doesn’t sound like bitterness, or anger, just a casual awareness that’s entirely discordant with the subject. 

“There the fuck did you get that idea? Did the assholes tell you that bullshit?”

Tim covers his face with both hands. “Please, Jason just… there’s nothing to say, ok? This is how it’s always been. It’s over now. Please leave it.”

And Jason would, because the kid sounds exhausted, but he can’t, because. Because the kid sounds exhausted. And Jason has a lot of problems, but a lack of empathy was never one of them.

“Tim,” he says, and it’s not anger that drives his steady tone. It’s not green, and it’s not rage, but it burns, and it’s entirely him. “I need you to explain to me exactly why you think that way.”

“What do you want me to say, Jason?” Tim snaps. “That’s just how it is. I blackmailed Bruce into letting me be Robin, and I knew from the start what my role was. He has a son now who can take the mantle, and I moved on. I don’t know what you want from me?”

Jason - halts. “Wait, what do you mean ‘blackmailed’?”

Tim squints at him. “Do you - you don’t - really? That’s…” he rubs a hand over his eyes. “Ok, sure. Yeah, why not. I blackmailed Bruce into taking me as Robin because he was going crazy, and there was nobody else. Now, there’s someone better for the job. Jason, do we have to do this now?”

There’s a lot to unpack there, a lot more Jason wants to understand now, but the kid looks and sounds exhausted, and there’s going to be time. He got the gist, anyway. “Yeah, ok, baby bird. We can drop it. But we’re coming back to this later, because there’s something extremely fucked up to unpack there.”

Tim looks at the window. He might be contemplating jumping out.

“Fine. Whatever. Can I go back to the case now, or was there more?”

 _Jesus Fucking Christ_.

“You’re not doing anything other than going to sleep, kid,” he says as he grabs their plates to put in the sink. He should put the rest of the groceries away, actually, now that he thinks about it.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna work on this case.”

Bullheaded like a fucking bat, alright. “Self care, baby bird. You’ve gotta learn it.” He starts putting things away, and grimaces at the probably-once-a-vegetable still rotting away in the fridge.

“I know what self care is. What are you doing?”

“Putting away your groceries.”

Tim opens his mouth. Pauses. Closes it.

He shakes his head, incredulous. “Sure. Why not.” He goes to open his laptop but Jason counters him with a hand on top.

“Sleep, kid.”

“I need to finish those-”

“You don’t need to finish shit.” He pulls the laptop out of Tim’s grip, and it’s laughably easy. The kid tries to glare at him, but the effect is ruined by a yawn. Jason rolls his eyes, but he puts the laptop down opposite Tim. “Go to sleep, baby bird” he says again, and absently reaches out to pet the kid’s hair. His fingers get caught two seconds în, but it’s easy to detangle. “You’ve done the hard part already. I can take care of the rest, but you can’t keep going much longer.”

This isn’t what he was planning when he came here, but it’s fine. Tim needs to sleep, and Jason needs to sort through his feelings, and both of them needs to be off the streets, so it works out.

Tim’s eyes are wide, not quite meeting Jason’s, but he seems less inclined to argue, and when he finally nods his assent, Jason gives his hair one last pet and steps away. Jason listens as the kid walks to his bedroom, hears the dull noise as he falls onto his mattress.

The mug that shattered earlier still needs to be cleaned up, and there’s police files waiting to be sorted. The album can wait a bit more.


End file.
